Mask
by suggsygirl
Summary: SLASH Wilson is not how he appears to be.


**Mask**

Even with the three wives and multiple infidelities, people still like Wilson, still respect him and treat him as if his morals were not questionable. It's as if the image he's projecting is a hologram, concealing the truth from the world. People can't see past the illusion.

Wilson sometimes wonders what would happen if he let the mask slip. How far would he go? Would he lose control? How would that feel?

Wilson sits on the couch in House's apartment, feet up on the coffee table and a plate of Chinese food on his lap. His tie is off, top button undone and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. House makes a comment regarding Wilson's relaxed state and the frequency of it's occurrence around House. Wilson chuckles and nods his head, smiling at House and seemingly agreeing with him. Wilson knows that the exact opposite is true, Wilson's mask is at it's hardest, his most controlled when he's around House. It has to be, House is the closest to cracking the facade. He keeps a tight rein on his emotions, reflecting what he thinks House wants to see. What House needs to see, to prove his little theories on humanity are correct.

Late at night Wilson imagines what letting go around House might feel like. He strokes his erection as he visualizes the shock on House's face as Wilson reveals who he really is. Shows House exactly how much control he has, let's House realize that he doesn't know Wilson at all. The balance of power in their relationship is not how it appears to be. House walks all over Wilson because he lets him, because it suits Wilson to appear as the weaker of the two. Wilson could walk away at any point, start again at the drop of a hat, but House... he truly needs Wilson and the fact that he can't, or won't see that, makes it all the more delicious.

One day Wilson is going to let his guard down. House is taking liberties, stretching Wilson's self restraint to it's limit. Pushing him. Wilson knows that House is testing his boundaries, seeing how far he can go. It occurs to Wilson that perhaps House _wants_ him to lose control, but House doesn't know Wilson. He doesn't appreciate that the consequences won't be Wilson walking away. Wilson won't leave until it suits him, the consequences will be...

Wilson doesn't actually know. He's never let go of himself, ever. A part of him is looking forward to it, to seeing exactly what would happen.

House is detoxing, this of course has been engineered by Wilson. Part of his grand plan, taking away House's excuses, shifting the balance of power inexorably in Wilson's favour, bringing House to his knees.

House is playing the piano when Wilson walks into the apartment, a sombre, melancholy tune that echoes House's appearance. Sweat has plastered his hair to his skull, his eyes are bloodshot and Wilson can detect a slight tremor to House's fingers. He can feel the tension radiating from the man, can feel his weakness and it excites him. Maybe tonight will be the night he loses it, lets House go where nobody ever has.

Wilson picks a fight, nagging, cajoling but oh-so sensitively, compassionately, just waiting for House to break. It doesn't take that long. House hits him, punches him in the jaw. Masked Wilson would have looked hurt, walked away with his tail between his legs. The real Wilson has House pinned against the wall by his throat. "Don't fuck with me, you don't know who you're dealing with"

The look on House's face will keep Wilson hard for months. The shock, the fear, the disbelief. House stares at him, searching for an anchor in Wilson's features, for something familiar to grab onto. There's nothing. House has never met the real Wilson. Slowly Wilson lets go of House's throat, moving backwards, keeping eye contact.

House murmurs. "Wilson."

Wilson smiles, a real smile that lights up his face. "Yeah."

House shakes his head sadly, like he's disappointed that it took Wilson so long. "So, you do have a backbone, I was beginning to wonder."

House pushes himself off the door and stalks towards Wilson. "Nice to meet you. It only took 12 years."

Things are rapidly spiraling out of Wilson's control, the world is shifting on it's axis. House leans forward and crushes his lips to Wilson's. Wilson feels House's tongue plunder his mouth, taking him. Wilson doesn't stop him. Doesn't stop him when he pushs Wilson towards the bedroom, or when he strips his clothes from him. Doesn't stop him when his face is pushed into the mattress, when he feels slick fingers penetrating his body. Doesn't stop him when those fingers are replaced by the thick bluntness of House's cock, or when House fucks him hard and rough.

When it's over, Wilson turns to lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. "Well, that didn't go according to plan."

House smirks. "There was a _plan_? You can't _plan_ to lose control, it just happens."

Wilson was reeling, scrambling for purchase on this new landscape. "You knew?"

"That you really aren't as nice as you appear? Or what would happen when you lost it?" House queries.

"Either."

House appears lost in thought, then answers carefully. "Everyone wears a mask, I've been pushing so hard to see the real you. I was beginning to think you really were a pathetic, co-dependant, womanizer. You're not that good an actor, I saw little glints of you every now and again. I wanted more."

Wilson moves, fast and pins House to the bed, straddling him. "Next time_ I'm _fucking _you_."

"I'm looking forward to it." House replies, then adds. "Oh and Wilson? From now on, You're naked around me. No mask, no lies and no secrets. Do you understand me?"

Wilson nods once and thinks he should lose control more often.


End file.
